


Tolerance

by sativadiva17



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale's First Time Having Sex (Good Omens), Biting, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, First Time, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), Light BDSM, M/M, Mild S&M, Multi, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Other, POV Aziraphale (Good Omens), Porn With Plot, Quote: You go too fast for me Crowley (Good Omens), Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-20
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:33:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28184700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sativadiva17/pseuds/sativadiva17
Summary: “Tell me, Anthony. I want—I need to know.”“It’s not about what’s down there, you and I both know that. It’s about what’s inside. We’re made of totally different… properties.”“Go on.”“Inside you, and all the fluids you secrete, is a trace amount of Holy Water. Inside me, a trace amount of Hellfire. See where I’m going with this, Angel?”“Oh dear,” was all Aziraphale could manage as the other shoe dropped straight down from the sky and onto his halo.“An angel and demon fuc-I mean, being intimate with one another would mean—““We’d literally destroy each other from the inside out.”“Bingo, angel.”Chapter One, in which Aziraphale and Crowley enjoy the end result of their agreed upon tolerance to one another.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 23





	Tolerance

**Author's Note:**

> Well, it's been ages since I've done one of these. I'm going through an absolute bullshit time in my life and decided to fall back on one of my oldest comforts, which is apparently writing smut about my comfort ships. Hope you enjoy! If you'd like to see more, let me know!  
> P.S  
> If you know me in real life and this somehow gets back to me ON GOD I WILL DENY HAVING WRITTEN THIS SHIT TO MY GRAVE.

“Am I hurting you, angel?” The lack of the usual snarl in Crowley’s voice caught Aziraphale by surprise. He knew quite well how sex was supposed to be in heaven, and how it was supposed to feel between angels—safe, efficient, perfect. Weightless. Easy. Private. It was hard for him to imagine such a thing in his current sweaty state, his massive wings chained down to the bed as he struggled to accommodate Crowley inside him. Aziraphale was no fool—he knew this would be no easy task simply by the way Crowley walked. He of all creatures had noticed the pivotal ingredient behind the demon's saunter, and had used God's name in vain more than a few times when Crowley first unzipped his tight leather trousers and presented it to him some two thousand years ago.

“Angel,” repeated Crowley,“I need you to answer the question.” Aziraphale’s attempt at a wry chuckle came out as a grunt of pain. To say angels weren’t well versed with the concept of physical discomfort would be an understatement. And while Aziraphale considered himself a shining exception to the rule, he could feel all hell breaking loose every time Crowley swayed his hips another inch forward and the line between their two separate bodies became blurred.

“Don’t be so smug,” Aziraphale puffed, “I know you’re enjoying this.” The brightness which radiated around the edges of Crowley’s slitted pupils told him so. A relationship such as theirs was never discussed in Heaven, whereas, like all things, the complete opposite was true of Crowley’s homestead.

It was a warm night in Alexandria when Crowley finally told him the truth. Aziraphale sobbed in the demon’s arms as the Great Library burned, allowing himself to be caressed, allowing the tears to be wiped delicately from his puffy eyes. Aziraphale, with his head resting on Crowley’s heart, felt the tell tale constrictions that meant what he feared most was in fact true. He swept a hand across his face, leaning out of Crowley’s arms to inspect it. Against the firelight he could just make out a dark ichor mixing in with his tears. Grabbing Crowley’s hand, he gasped at the sight of the demon’s fingertips—singed off, nearly to the bone.

“Oh God. I’m hurting you, Crowley,” he choked. This was somehow worse than the thousands of books burning to a crisp just ahead of them. Aziraphale could feel the telltale beginnings of a wail waiting at the back of his throat as Crowley shrugged. The fire reflected off his dark glasses for what seemed like an eternity as the demon shifted his gaze. The next words out of his mouth were barely a whisper.

“I quite like it, actually.”

Aziraphale’s scoff came out as a hiccuping sob. He could see the corners of Crowley’s mouth turning upwards, ever so slight. He felt a rush of warmth explode in his chest. Suddenly it was difficult to breathe. _All that ash blowing around, surely_ , he thought.

“You know what happens if we keep this up, don’t you?”

“Keep what up?”

“You know, angel.” The note of pleading in Crowley’s voice was so foreign Aziraphale couldn’t help but chuckle. And was Crowley _blushing_? Aziraphale sat up, his legs now straddling Crowley’s as he brought his hands up to the demon’s face and held it as if to inspect, when really it was to admire. This particular habit of his was practiced with greater frequency and intensity the last few times he had seen Crowley. Something had changed between them, a feeling that Aziraphale found to be both surprising and inevitable at the same time. He wondered if Crowley felt the same, or if he even felt at all.

 _"You can never be sure of them_ ," Gabriel’s voice rang in his head. But when he slowly took Crowley’s glasses off and looked into his eyes, he was certain.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” said Crowley, and just like that they were kissing. Aziraphale gasped at the sting of Crowley’s forked tongue against his own, the odd metallic taste that followed. Just as he began to feel the warmth spreading from his chest down south, the sting worsened into something deeper, causing him to jerk backward, dizzy. Was this how pain felt? Even Crowley was breathing in rags.

“Anthony—“

“Shit, angel, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.”

“Don’t apologize," began Aziraphale, before giving Crowley a smile which could only be categorized as _wicked,_ "I quite liked it, actually.”

“No one ever told you what would happen if…” Crowley trails off, letting the implication rise like ash into the sky. In the corner of his reptilian eye, he catches the nearly imperceptible shake of Aziraphale’s head.

“Will you?” Aziraphale looks at Crowley once more, registering the rise of fall of the demon’s chest. In all their years he had never seen Crowley like this—flustered to the point of silence.

“Tell me, Anthony. I want—I _need_ to know.”

“It’s not about what’s down there, you and I both know that. It’s about what’s inside. We’re made of totally different… properties.”

“Go on.”

“Inside you, and all the fluids you secrete, is a trace amount of Holy Water. Inside me, a trace amount of Hellfire. See where I’m going with this, Angel?”

“Oh dear,” was all Aziraphale could manage as the other shoe dropped straight down from the sky and onto his halo.

“An angel and demon fuc-I mean, being intimate with one another would mean—“

“We’d literally destroy each other from the inside out.”

“Bingo, angel.” A pause, in which Aziraphale sucks in a huge breath and lets it out again. Then he turns to Crowley, interlacing their hands and feeling the tender callouses beginning to form at his fingertips. Aziraphale felt Crowley’s heart constrict as he turned his face away, the firelight giving his already sharp features an even more dramatic shading.

“We can’t, angel. _I_ can’t.”

“And why not?” Aziraphale felt his cheeks growing warm with rejection. Of course this would happen to him, of all angels. The only one stupid enough to go against the will of God all for… for what?

“It’ll be worse for you. So much worse. That’s why,” Crowley says, distracting himself by lifting a clawed hand and dusting soot off the impressive span of Aziraphale’s wings. The ash clung to them, masking them in a darkness not much different from the natural shade of his own smaller, broken wings.

“Oh, pish posh, Anthony.”

“This is serious. I have nothing to lose. But you? You could lose your wings. You could Fall.”

“So I could,” Aziraphale retorted, nonchalant.

“You don't mean that, angel.”

“I want you, Anthony. All of you. I’m absolutely certain of it.”

“You’ll be fucking damned, Aziraphale-”

“I don’t care what it costs me.”

“You should!”

“Well, I don’t!”

“Angel, I’m begging you. Don’t ask me to do this.”

“Don’t you want to?

“Of course I do, you stupid cherub! But I can’t bear the thought of you Falling—for me.”

“Anthony, my dear,” said Aziraphale softly as he watched a beautiful gold bound book fold into flames, “I’m afraid that ship has very much already sailed.”

So they agreed to build a tolerance. Slowly but surely, across the months, years, decades, centuries. It was the only thing either inpatient being thought to be worth waiting for. The meantime was never wasted on either party—the angel and demon were happy to oblige in the furthering of their little experiment. And now, finally, they have arrived.

Aziraphale felt the pressure subside from where Crowley beckoned. He barely has time to exhale before the demon slides his serpent’s tongue deep inside, causing Aziraphale to moan, his legs involuntarily wrapping around Crowley’s shoulders and drawing him in deeper.

“ _God_ ,” he pants, afraid for more than a split second that he might just unravel into Crowley’s mouth right then and there. Picking up on this, Crowley retreats, smirking at the way Aziraphale arches his back and groans in response. He doesn’t break eye contact as his tongue makes a circular sweep around his mouth, collecting his lover’s excitement..

“Fuck, angel,” Crowley breathes, “You’re _wet_.”

“Quit torturing me, will you?” Aziraphale huffs.

“Very well, my dear.” And without a moment’s hesitation, Crowley pushes into Aziraphale, this time burying his flaming sword all the way in to the hilt. Aziraphale’s first instinct, as always, is to panic. Wordless, he shuts his legs so fast it causes Crowley to let out a small grunt of pain and back out.

“Sorry, I’m sorry. You’re just—“

“No, it was my fault, angel. I got ahead of myself. I’ll go slower this time, promise.”

Aziraphale watches as Crowley carefully places both hands against his thighs before applying just enough pressure to spread them to their limit. The angel rolls his lip between his teeth, almost drawing blood to stifle whatever sound might come out this time. The pressure returns between his hips, increasing.

 _Slower is worse_ , he decides as the stretching and burning begins again. _Much worse_. Aziraphale cries out as Crowley holds his gaze, then his flailing hands.

“Say the word and I’ll stop, Angel.”

“Don’t you _fucking_ dare,” Aziraphale spits, giving in to a small set of spasms as Crowley briefly backs out before slipping his entirety inside him again. Aziraphale understands why angels would never speak of such a thing—the struggle, the fullness, the mess. The way the imperfection of their union, the danger of it—turned Aziraphale on more than anything. “That’s my angel,” Crowley croons, smoothing sweaty curls out of Aziraphale’s eyes, “you’re doing great.” It wasn’t long for Crowley to find a steady rhythm, gleefully slamming into Aziraphale with centuries of pent up frustration.

“Seeing you like this,” Crowley begins between thrusts, “you have no idea what it does to me.”

“I can take a pretty good guess,” says Aziraphale, now trying to contain the climax rising steady from deep within him.

“Let me free your wings,” Crowley blurts. The chains are gone moments later, propelling Aziraphale suddenly into the air with a slick popping noise.

Crowley looks up, marveling. “Beautiful,” he whispers, watching the wetness cascade from between Aziraphale’s trembling thighs and down onto the sheets, “now give me a taste.” Aziraphale obliges—lowers himself onto Crowley’s face, the soft swell of his belly resting just atop the crown of the demon’s head.

 _If only Gabriel could see me now_. Aziraphale lets out a small noise as Crowley’s tongue snakes back inside him, caressing his raw, stinging sex. The vibration of Crowley’s pleasurable moans inside him nearly sends Aziraphale over the edge, the word _angel_ melting into the deepest part of him over and over from his lover’s burning lips. Just as he begins to feel a drop in his stomach, the first sign of his impending climax, Crowley’s hands reach to guide his hips upward and away from his mouth. Aziraphale groans as the cold air caresses his wetness, extinguishing the release of his pleasure. He doesn’t have to look down to know Crowley’s grinning.

“ _Anthony_ ,” he warns, feral.

“Yes, dear?”

“Do that again and I’ll kill you right where you sit.”

“Ooh. Is that a _threat_ , angel?”

“More like a promise, you absolute tease—“ Aziraphale is cut short by Crowley plucking him out of the air and bringing the angel down hard onto his cock in one swift motion. Aziraphale moans so loud it startles him.

“Mhmm. You like that, don’t you? You need it,” Crowley purrs, tightening his grip around Aziraphale’s hips and thrusting him downward.

“Oh, yes. Don’t stop,” Aziraphale submits to his need to take Crowley in deeper, letting it consume him as he rocks his hips faster and faster. Crowley groans, helpless as Aziraphale takes his face in his hands. He parts his lips for a kiss, which Aziraphale grants, but not without rolling the demon’s lip between his own and biting down hard enough to break skin. Crowley lets out a hiss, the taste of blood exciting him beyond measure.

“Aziraphale,” he warns softly, “I’m close.” “

That’s wonderful news, darling. Now choke me.”

“ _Angel!_ ”

“I said choke me, you beautiful bastard. Are you a demon or aren't you?”

“Bossy _and_ naughty. What have I done to deserve you?”

“Your very worst, I hope.” Crowley wraps his hands around his lover's neck and gives it a squeeze. Aziraphale closes his eyes, internal contractions growing to a crescendo as he finally lets himself be taken by his climax, throwing his head back and giving in to his release. The keening howl of ecstasy that erupts from deep within his throat soars over the low moan which Crowley buries deep into his chest as the demon spends himself inside his dear angel. The come down crashes over Aziraphale, his thighs trembling against Crowley’s as he begins to sob and spasm. Crowley smirks devilishly as the combination of their release leaks downward, sizzling.

“Anthony,” is all Aziraphale can manage as he attempts to disengage himself. The angel is still shaking, utterly inconsolable and entirely helpless to avoid bucking his hips and triggering several aftershocks.

“There there, angel. There there,” Crowley grins, stroking Aziraphale’s back gently with a clawed hand as he comes undone once more. When he eventually rolls the nearly catatonic angel to the side and looks at the state of the sheets, he clicks his tongue.

“We’ve made quite a mess. I’m not sure my magic can even get rid of this one.” Aziraphale sits upright, turns, and screams. Crowley chuckles.

“Oh please. It’s not even that bad, an-“ he stops mid sentence as Aziraphale turns to face him. The angel's once bright blue eyes have been completely transformed—a telltale cloud of whiteness obscuring the iris completely. Crowley feels the world start to spin as his angel screeches with despair. Aziraphale reaches out for him in the dark, his voice trembling with fear.

“ _I can’t see! Anthony, I can’t see!_ ”


End file.
